


Drink and the devil had done for the rest

by sloganeer



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Indiana Jones Fusion, M/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 18:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: "Every college town needs a bar, right?"The smile Nate gives him is brighter than Saddam's stolen gold.





	Drink and the devil had done for the rest

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished, but too good not to post somewhere, for posterity, at least. Inspired by Nate Fick going back to school after his tour, as well as my childhood love of Indiana Jones.

Brad carries two tall pints from the bar to the tiny table Nate's claimed by the window. You can see the museum from here, but Nate's chosen the chair that faces the opposite direction. 

"That's it," he says. Brad slides the beer wetly across the table, trying for Nate's attention. He thought he had stopped doing that years ago. "We'll never see it again," Nate says, offering a sad smile before taking his first sip.

"So what are you gonna do?" Brad keeps his face carefully blank. 

"Go back to school," Nate shrugs. He's due back at the university. The fantasy is over again. Nate even takes the hat off, sets it on a nearby chair. "What are you gonna do?" He reaches over to touch the back of Brad's hand, curled around his glass.

Brad's bar in Baghdad was burned down. There is most definitely a warrant out in his name in Al Hayy, probably a bounty, too, in Nasiriyah. He followed Nate back to the States, not knowing how welcome he would be. Nate wasn't asking, but he never did. They never asked each other for anything, and that's how it all fell apart in the first place.

He should want to stay. It's been a while since he's been home. Maybe there's something here to explore.

"Every college town needs a bar, right?" 

The smile Nate gives him is brighter than Saddam's stolen gold.

\- 

The Icehouse opens a week before schedule, and two days before Nate gets back from a student dig in Mexico. They work on no sleep to get the floor ripped up and the hardwood in. Ray disappears for half a day when they're finished, then comes back with a truckload of secondhand equipment and a plan to set up a radio and speaker system for broadcasting football games and what Poke calls Brad's love of "the limey news." Walt installs the kegs and the beer taps. Brad keeps Trombley busy fetching water and lunch, sometimes nails or another can of mahogany stain, but what really gets them through the week is Poke's wife's tacos. She sets up a tiny grill out front to feed them all, and pretty soon she's passing out food for the local kids, too.

Poke isn't happy about it. "Woman, you're supposed to make the white man pay." 

It's not the kind of food that white kids in a Chicago suburb are used to, but the tacos go well with beer, and that's what Brad's selling in this prime piece of real estate that used to be a soda shop. Close enough to attract the college students, but far enough away that Nate won't feel overrun. Brad could walk--he runs five miles every morning--but he likes the justification to ride his brand new motorcycle. 

A good day starts with a run, a shower, and a quickie before Nate's classes, then Brad goes for a ride. Now, he has a destination. Now he rides to the Icehouse. They open at noon. Brad pays Ray for six to midnight, but he still shows up when he likes and leaves when he wants. They run out of beer the first night, and Brad has to send Trombley all over town to buy whatever he can in bottles. 

By the third night, they're all worn to the ground, but it's that good tired, the kind that comes after a hard day's work or a long car chase. Poke says he looks like shit, but Brad won't admit he hasn't been sleeping with Nate away. 

-

There's a big woman sitting at the bar, matching him shot for shot like someone's taking bets. As the bitter burn of liquor hits his belly, Brad feels the last year catch up to him, finally. He looks around for Ray to cover him so he can step outside, but his eyes stop at the open door. 

Nate, face open and sun burned, standing in Brad's new place, just like the last time he stepped back into Brad's life. He's even wearing the hat. 

He takes a good look around, a pointing finger following, admiring, the exposed beams, elbowing Mike beside him to look. Brad waits, and Nate finds him eventually, pushing through the kids saying, Welcome home, Prof, until he finds an empty stool in front of Brad at the bar.

"I hope you brought me something this time, Fick." Brad holds up his hands. "I don't have anymore artifacts hanging around my neck." 

Nate gives him a smirk, but he's still looking around. "This is amazing, Brad. When did you open?" 

"Couple of days ago." He reaches down for two glasses, nodding a quick hello to Mike. Suddenly, Brad doesn't feel so tired. 

"This is amazing," Nate says again. He takes everything in, all Brad's hard work, with the same eye he uses in ancient ruins. Nate can already see how the bar's going to look in a thousand years. 

Ray comes up behind them, draping both arms around Nate and Mike's shoulders. "The prodigal sons," he crows. 

"Take the bar," Brad tells him, setting two pints on the bar, then handing his towel over to Ray. "The professor needs to help me with something in the back." 

"Don't make a mess," Ray calls after them.

Mike laughs, and Nate blushes, but once they're through the door, once Brad gets a hand around his wrist, and they find an empty space, Nate changes. He dives for the kiss. He becomes that man Brad would follow across the desert and through underground tunnels. The man Brad followed home. 

He follows him through the storage room now, past cases of beer stacked high and towards the small desk Brad uses for the books. They're sitting out, but Nate clears space with one long swipe of his arm. He hoists himself up on the desk and yanks Brad between his legs.

"You made a mess." Brad grins. Nate ignores him for another kiss. He's sneaking his hand into Brad's pants, too. "What are you thinking?" 

Brad doesn't like to leave Ray alone too long. Nate's only been gone two weeks, but it's his first trip away since this new thing. Whatever this thing is they're doing together. Nate would have notes and diagrams, scientific names to explain it all, but Brad just wants to get off. This works for him right now.

-

When Brad starts to feel settled, in Chicago, with Nate, a tiny man with large glasses comes into his bar during the early evening lull and changes everything. 

Most days, Nate finishes his office hours and brings Brad dinner. They eat together at the bar, complain about customers and students, while Ray cleans tables and makes gagging noises. 

Nate probably got held up. He's very popular among the kids, Brad's noticed. He's eating peanuts now, instead of dinner, from the bowls they put out on the bar. They dust them with sumac. Sour on the tongue and red on the fingers, it's the second best thing Brad brought back with him from Iraq. 

Wiping his hands on a clean towel, Brad offers a greeting to the tiny man. "A seat at the bar, sir?" 

"Thank you," he says, in a raspy, accented voice. He doesn't sit down. "But I think I shall wait for Professor Fick."


End file.
